My Step 2

Original poems that are specifically recovery related
Posts: 336
Joined: Wed Apr 29, 2009 9:54 am

My Step 2

Postby tim-one » Fri May 15, 2009 8:33 am

Whoops. My bad.

Sorry, Dallas. That last one ("No sleepin drinkin thinkin") was pre-recovery. No recovery included. Broke the rules. Won't happen again. This one is repentance for that one. :oops:


Chaos – Panic
Confusion – Intrigue
Depressed – Manic
Effort – Fatigue

My anger is mine, maybe unfounded, surely no direction
I flail at the sky, self-righteous unholy insurrection

There’s nowhere to hide
No greens, no blues
No comfort, no breast
No peace, no clues

Life is a war of attack and attrition
I fight without cause with no ammunition
I press to achieve where there is no ambition
My hope for the future a black premonition

I strive every day to assure that I fail
My blood had long dried, my face it runs pale
My strength is my weakness, my fortress is frail
No air in my lungs, I can only exhale

My mind is a mist without color or form
My thoughts are all cold, not even lukewarm
They cloud the bright sky like locusts in swarm
They die in the womb deformed and unborn

To do is not in me, to start is unwise
Lest any result would be my demise
I dare not stretch out to reach for the prize
My heart only screams with ungodly cries

My soul is too heavy, a burdensome weight
It shackles me down from heaven’s gold gate
Oh, God, where are you? How long must I wait
To die without hope, more hell as my fate?

I’m endlessly cursed to this death I live now
I row on the Styx, my foot on the prow
I row and I row with pain in my brow
To plot a new course I’ve no idea how

Oh, God stop the madness! Let me die soon!
My faith is a void, my spirit has swooned
I need You, My Lord, to end this cartoon
Black comedy of errors, dead limb to be pruned

There’s nowhere to hide
No greens, no blues
No comfort, no breast
Ah, but yes, there’s You,
My God

Create in me a clean heart, oh my Lord
Heal my soul and make me alive
I run from myselves, an angry sick hoard
I run to You, God, to live and to thrive

Your prodigal son is crawling back home
Beaten and filthy, perverted and poor
I remembered the love You’d so kindly shown
I need You, my Lord. I scratch at your door

And who is this running and crying for joy?
Who’s fallen on me and kissing my face?
Father, I’m a muddy and bloody lost boy
I’ll live in Your barn or other such place

Ridiculous, my son. I’ve waited for you
I’ve kept your room fresh in case you returned
I’ll clean you and heal you and make you anew
For you to come back, My heart had so burned

Here is grace.
Here is peace.
There’s no other place
Where I’m tall on my knees.

Tim S.

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